


muscle memory

by marshmallow_matey (charlie_p)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (very) Light Dom/Sub, Awkward Kageyama Tobio, Canon Compliant, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Hook-Up, M/M, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29070858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlie_p/pseuds/marshmallow_matey
Summary: Tsukishima visits Kageyama during training season. It's not weird to suck your friend's dick if you're just doing it as a favor, right?“You little,” Tobio begins, voice low against the shell of Tsukishima’s ear. Pauses to remember the word he’s looking for. “You littlemasochist,” he finishes after a moment.He gets a quiet groan and a jerk of Tsukishima’s hips in response, and then, muffled into his shoulder, “I didn’t know you had that kind of vocabulary, King.”Tobio flushes. “Yeah, well I didn’t peg you as the type to enjoy getting hurt in bed.”Tugs his hair back so that Tsukishima is forced to look up at him. Buries his nails further into his skin. Tsukishima lets out a shaky breath, eyes darting in and out of focus. His glasses sit crooked on his face, cheeks flushed deep red and shining with a faint sheen of sweat.“Holyshit,” breathes Tobio, “youreallyenjoy getting hurt in bed.”
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 4
Kudos: 82





	muscle memory

**Author's Note:**

> first explicit fic... let's go.  
> if you know me irl, no you don't <3

Tobio doesn’t really know what to do when Tsukishima shows up at his apartment. Contrary to popular (read: Hinata’s) belief, he’s literally never hooked up with anyone during training season. He wonders idly if his team-issued accommodation reminds Tsukishima too much of his college dorm, like he’d said some of the apartments did. Tobio wouldn’t know. He didn’t go to college. 

So when Tsukishima knocks, Tobio just sort of stands there, thinking. “I know you’re in there, Kageyama,” comes Tsukishima’s muffled voice after a minute. He sounds annoyed- but, well, how is that any different than usual? Tobio reaches for the door. 

For a moment, they blink at each other. Tsukishima’s eyes dart behind Tobio. “You going to let me in?” Oh, yeah. That. Tobio steps aside and gestures for Tsukishima to duck inside. 

“You can just put your stuff on the couch, if you want,” Tobio calls after Tsukishima toes his shoes off. A nod from Tsukishima, then a pause. 

“How do you want to do this?" Tsukishima asks, voice floating across the living room. 

It strikes Tobio again that Tsukishima is here to have sex with him. Weird. But probably objectively a good idea: when Hinata had suggested it, straight-faced, after being "fed-up with you and Tsukki always complaining to me about how horny you both are, dumbass," Tobio had thought he was joking. But Tsukishima had scratched the back of his neck and shrugged and changed the topic, and then they had ended up making out drunk in the bathroom later that night. So it goes. And now Tsukishima was here, shrugging his jacket and bag onto the back of Tobio's couch. 

"I don't really care," Tobio replies. 

Tsukishima blinks at him again. The meter or so between them seems to stretch forever. God, this is so awkward sober. 

"Wanna go to my bedroom?" Tobio blurts.

Tsukishima raises an eyebrow, but nods. "Lead the way," he says, letting Tobio step past him.

They sit down on the edge of Tobio's bed, charcoal gray comforter crinkling beneath them. Tobio wonders if Tsukishima cares about how bare his room is. He probably would. He pays attention to that sort of stuff. Someone clears their throat. Tobio isn't sure if it's him or Tsukishima, but Tsukishima speaks first. 

"Mind if I put some music on?" 

Tobio shakes his head. 

"I have speakers, if you want…" Tobio's voice trails off as he stands to reach over his desk, pulling a bluetooth speaker out from behind a half-open laptop. 

"Cool," says Tsukishima. Tobio's fan buzzes above them. The overhead light makes everything feel a little clinical. 

Bedsprings squeak under Tobio’s weight as Tsukishima looms over his desk, connecting his phone to the speaker. He plays with the fabric of the comforter. Maybe he should have cleaned it before Tsukishima came over. 

"Hey, King," Tsukishima starts once the speaker beeps to life, "you got a lamp or something?"

Tobio jerks up. "Yeah, yeah." Leans over to his bedside table to switch it on, casting the bed in a warm yellow glow. 

"Good," Tsukishima replies. Back still turned to Tobio as he reaches over to the lightswitch, plunging the room dark into a wash of yellow lamplight and a few strips of orange from the streetlights outside. The music starts. Tobio doesn't recognize the song at all, but it sounds nice. 

When Tsukishima turns to face him, face half-bathed in the dim warm glow, he looks different somehow. Maybe it's his expression, or something about the way he stands, but it forces Tobio to remember why he's doing all of this in the first place: Tsukishima is undeniably hot. 

They observe each other for a second, Tobio perched at the edge of the bed, Tsukishima half-leaned against the wall, eyes grazing Tobio's body. Their breaths mingle light and quick. The beat sets in. Tsukishima, in one stride, closes the distance between them.

It takes Tobio’s senses a second to register that this is  _ happening _ . There’s a warm ghost of breath across his jawline, calloused fingertips brushing across the shell of his ear, and then the soft press of Tsukishima’s lips against his own. Slick press of a tongue at the seam of his mouth. Tobio relaxes. He moves his jaw against Tsukishima’s, dancing around the intruding tongue with the tip of his own. Everything is warm and wet and  _ whoa _ , Tsukishima is actually a pretty good kisser. 

Without breaking contact, Tsukishima slowly kneels onto the bed to straddle Tobio. He props his arms on Tobio’s shoulders, hands crossed lax behind, firm muscle of his chest pressed hot against Tobio’s front. Tobio can already feel his brain going mushy as he shifts against Tsukishima, raising one hand to guide Tsukishima’s chin while he deepens the kiss. 

Tsukishima drags his way down the side of Tobio’s neck, leaving little bursts of sensation as he bites and sucks at the delicate skin there. Tobio brings his hand up to cradle the back of Tsukishima’s head as it makes its descent. When Tsukishima’s thumb finds one of Tobio’s nipples under his rumpled shirt, he lets out an involuntary groan, reflexively tightening his grip on the blonde hair. 

At this, Tobio feels Tsukishima shudder against him. Lets out a breathy moan of his own, vibrating hot against his shoulder.  _ Hm. _ Tobio gives another experimental yank and Tsukishima stutters again, blunt nails digging into Tobio’s sides. 

“You like it when I pull your hair,” he murmurs down to Tsukishima, who has since resumed his task of sucking a bruise just below Tobio’s collarbone. 

“No shit, King,” mutters Tsukishima between bites. 

Tobio files this information in the same place he stores high-school-Tsukishima’s favorite tosses. It occurs to him that it should probably strike him as strange that he’s currently hooking up with the same person who’d spent most of their time together antagonizing him. But, Tobio reasons, this is a mutually beneficial arrangement: they’re already friends, Tsukishima won’t be weird about this, except that he’ll now have a fresh arsenal of sex jokes to needle Tobio with. Besides, Tsukishima is hot. 

And he has great taste in music, evidently: Tobio doesn’t recognize 90% of the “experimental mid-90s Japanese rock, c’mon, King, these are  _ classics _ , they practically  _ defined _ the genre,” that ooze through his bluetooth speakers, but he’s not complaining. They set a cool grungy sexy mood that reminds Tobio of some movies Hoshiumi-san made him watch. He didn’t really get what Hoshiumi was trying to say about them then, about how  _ subversive _ and  _ atmospheric _ they were, but Tobio agreed that they felt pretty cool. That’s how he feels right now. Pretty cool. 

Anyway, Tsukishima is now shoving his shirt up over his shoulders, mouthing hot and wet at the ribs underneath his left pec. It tickles. Tobio feels sort of useless. He’s just sitting here, propped back on his forearms, while Tsukishima nibbles at him like a petting-zoo goat. He uses one arm to pull the rest of his shirt off, tossing it beside him onto the carpet. Wow, Tsukishima is _ really _ hot. He’s filled out a lot since they were 18, broad back rippling as he tugs Tobio’s waist towards him. What is Tobio supposed to be doing, aside from tugging at Tsukishima’s hair? No- what does he  _ want _ to be doing?

“Hey,” he mutters, low rumble cutting through a soundtrack of grunge and breathy groans. 

The nibbling stops. Tsukishima looks up and runs a hand through his bangs, which are significantly more disheveled than Tobio is used to seeing them. Tobio thumbs impatiently at the collar of Tsukishima’s shirt. 

“Get up here,” he says, maybe a little too gruffly. 

Tsukishima cocks an eyebrow and props himself back on his knees, rising to Tobio’s height. “Your wish is my command,” he responds as Tobio leans forward to meet him. 

As he shifts, Tobio feels corded muscle squeeze firm against his hips, the two layers of slippery athletic material between them doing little to mask the bulge now pushing against Tobio’s thigh. Fuck, Tsukishima is so  _ heavy _ . His legs weigh hot and firm over Tobio’s, forcing him deeper into the blankets below. Tobio pants against Tsukishima’s neck, winding his fingers back through soft strands. Twists his fingers tighter to pull Tsukushima’s head aside, licks at his jawline. A low groan vibrates where his nose meets smooth skin as Tsukishima grinds forcefully against Tobio’s thigh. 

“Fuck,” Tsukishima breathes, “keep doing that.” 

Tobio grins into Tsukishima’s neck. He’s getting the hang of this, now, wraps his other arm around his hips, anchoring him firm against his lap. Tsukishima’s long fingers continue to dance around Tobio’s torso, making Tobio shudder and gasp when he feels nails dig into his sides, fingertips dance over his nipples. They’re panting into each other’s mouths, now, dry humping through layers of fabric like horny 16-year-olds. 

All the sounds mingle together muddy in Tobio’s ears: Tsukishima’s addictive little groans, his own stuttered gasps, the rustle of the duvet below them, the sloppy wet sounds of lips on skin, the frantic drift of Tsukishima’s music. Tsukishima smells like cologne, Tobio realizes with a burst of embarrassment. Tobio probably smells like Active Deodorant at best. _ Fuck. _

They’re both hard, both so hard, and Tsukishima is basically fully dressed. Tobio gives Tsukishima’s hair a final yank before hooking both his hands at the bottom of Tsukishima’s shirt. Tugs. It’s longsleeve, takes a few forceful pulls to get over his head, but Tobio's treated to the unobstructed view of Tsukishima's bare torso, stretching out in front of him, which makes the trouble worth it. Tsukishima's shirt lands next to Tobio's on the floor. Tsukishima observes him dryly for a moment, hands wrapped firmly around his quads. Tobio is propped backwards on his hands, eyes skating over Tsukishima's chest. 

"Something wrong?" asks Tsukishima, lifting a hand to push his glasses back up his nose. 

Tobio shakes his head. "No," he answers, bringing a hand up to grope at Tsukishima's left shoulder, his pectorals. "Your chest has gained a lot of muscle lately, is all. How much are you benching?"

Tsukishima blinks at him. Blinks again. Tobio is still massaging his pecs. "What the fuck, Kageyama," he responds after a moment. "How did you manage to turn dirty talk into volleyball." 

Tobio furrows his brow. It was a compliment, he thinks. Tsukishima really has put on a lot of muscle. He adds this piece of information to his Tsukishima-toss-file: don't talk about training when you're about to have sex with him. Maybe he should start a separate folder for Tsukishima-sex-things, if Tsukishima wants to keep volleyball out of it. Tobio makes a mental note to reorganize his thoughts-- later, though: he's busy right now. Oh, yeah, he realizes: Tsukishima is still sitting on his lap. Shirtless. Hard against his own erection.

"I can hear your brain spinning in there," Tsukishima says before Tobio can move. "It's like an empty hamster wheel. You don't actually have to say anything if you don't want. Just don't- don't mention  _ training… _ I like to keep my work and my life separate, you know?" 

Tobio nods. "Do you want me to talk, though?" 

Tsukishima meets Tobio's eyes, places a hand over one of Tobio's, which is still splayed across his chest, and drags it slowly down. Unblinking. Past his navel, over the dusting of blonde hairs that peeks above his waistline, and finally to cup his hard-on. The skin of his stomach is warm and smooth and dry, and Tobio worries that his hands might be a little clammy. But Tsukishima's grip on his wrist is unrelenting. 

"I don't give a shit, King," he responds quietly, still holding Tobio's gaze in his own, wrapping his fingers around Tobio's to force them into a tight grip. 

He removes his hand. Now Tobio is palming Tsukishima's dick through his shorts. Unaided. Whoa. He gives it a little squeeze and watches as Tsukishima shudders, eyes fluttering in a little exhale. Tobio can keep rubbing at Tsukishima through his clothes, which is enjoyable enough, but he knows from experience that the novelty of this sort of thing will wear off very quickly, and then Tsukishima will get bored and so will Tobio and they’ll have to deal with the awkward repercussions of a failed hookup between friends. So Tobio makes up his mind that he needs to do something  _ else _ . 

Tobio wraps his other hand around the back of Tsukishima’s neck, giving it a firm squeeze. Tsukishima flushes even harder. At this angle, Tobio can easily control the motions of Tsukishima’s torso. Pulls his head to meet the crook of Tobio’s shoulder, where Tsukishima’s breath whines hot across his neck. Gives Tsukishima’s erection a particularly mean rub and then removes his hand, bringing it to fist in Tsukishima’s hair. He’s going to do it. He’s determined to  _ properly _ talk dirty. He readjusts his grip on Tsukishima’s hair and the back of his neck for maximum control and then opens his mouth. 

Before he can speak, though, Tsukishima grinds  _ hard _ against Tobio’s thigh and lets out an extended groan. It vibrates through Tobio’s collarbone where Tsukishima’s mouth meets his skin. Wait, what did he do that for? Tobio realizes suddenly that he’s accidentally dug his short fingernails into the side of Tsukishima’s neck, leaving little red half-crescents. Oh, Tsukishima must have  _ really _ liked that. 

To test his hypothesis, Tobio adjusts his grip and scratches again, this time intentionally scraping his nails down the back of Tsukishima’s neck. Twists the fist in his hair simultaneously. Tsukishima whimpers this time, cock throbbing where it meets Tobio’s leg. 

“You little,” Tobio begins, voice low against the shell of Tsukishima’s ear. Pauses to remember the word he’s looking for. “You little  _ masochist _ ,” he finishes after a moment. 

He gets a quiet groan and a jerk of Tsukishima’s hips in response, and then, muffled into his shoulder, “I didn’t know you had that kind of vocabulary, King.” 

Tobio flushes. “Yeah, well I didn’t peg you as the type to enjoy getting hurt in bed.” 

Tugs his hair back so that Tsukishima is forced to look up at him. Buries his nails further into his skin. Tsukishima lets out a shaky breath, eyes darting in and out of focus. His glasses sit crooked on his face, cheeks flushed deep red and shining with a faint sheen of sweat. 

“Holy  _ shit _ ,” breathes Tobio, “you  _ really _ enjoy getting hurt in bed.”

Enough talking, Tobio decides. He’s too far gone to think of anything coherent right now, anyway. He yanks Tsukishima’s face up to meet his, catching his bottom lip sharp between his teeth. At this, Tsukishima fumbles forward, giving Tobio’s ass a firm squeeze under his shorts. Their kisses have a desperate, almost frantic, quality to them now, tongues pushing hot and slick into each others’ mouths, the wet smacks and little aborted moans almost drowning out Tsukishima’s music. The skin of Tsukishima’s back is hot and dry and smooth as Tobio drags his nails across it, stopping occasionally to give him a quick pinch on the side or tug of the hair. 

When Tsukishima begins to trail his way down again, biting rapidly across Tobio’s chest this time, Tobio gets a flash of inspiration. Wraps his hand in the back of Tsukishima’s hair, forcing him to look up at Tobio again from where Tobio hunches over him. Tsukishima opens his mouth to say something, but Tobio beats him to the chase. Presses two fingers against the seam of Tsukishima’s lips. Tsukishima’s eyes widen. His glasses have long since been discarded, so Tobio gets an unobstructed view of the way he flushes, letting a little moan slip through before reaching a hand up to pull Tobio’s fingers into his mouth. 

Holy  _ shit _ this is hot. Tongue pressed hot and flat against the bottoms of his fingers, fingertips probing the slick roof of Tsukishima’s mouth. Then he begins to suck. Head pulling back, cheeks hollowed. And his _ expression _ . Holy  _ shit _ , thinks Tobio for the 15th time that night. Tsukishima is  _ really  _ hot. He’s blinking up low-lidded at Tobio, blonde eyelashes glowing in the dim light. His back ripples as he angles his head to poke Tobio’s fingers into the side of his cheek, letting them push there, vulgar, as saliva builds up around the edges of his lips. 

Everything is so hard he thinks he might pass out. Or maybe die. His balls might explode if Tsukishima doesn’t get to his dick  _ right now _ . “Fuck,” he groans, letting his head and shoulders fall back. Clenches his teeth and flexes his thighs in desperate search for friction. “Stop fucking teasing,” he grunts out, after Tsukishima pulls off his fingers with a slick pop. 

“Patience, King,” Tsukishima drawls, running his fingertips around Tobio’s waistband. 

Tobio throws an arm over his mouth and groans. When Tsukishima finally eases his boxers away, fabric sliding rough over his twitching cock, Tobio almost cries. And when Tsukishima finally licks hot and flat along Tobio’s shaft, Tobio thinks he might be seeing stars.

It’s not like he hasn’t done this before: shit, he was 19 and a media-showered prodigy at his first Olympics. But that was mostly drunk and blurry and horny, some Danish pole vaulter’s tits in his mouth, that one Brazilian swimmer pressed hard and slick against his back. None of the deliberate precise attention focused on him now. No pauses to lick flat along his shaft, tug on his pubic hair, roll his balls between deft fingers. 

Nothing exists right now, except for Tsukishima and his tongue and his hands.  _ Fuck. _ The wet suction around his head, impossibly hot, hand wrapped tight around his base. A sort of buzzing euphoria spreads from his head up through his stomach and down his legs, forcing him to let out a choked groan and arch his back and curl his toes as it washes over. 

This is  _ Tsukishima _ , Tsukishima the apathetic asshole, Tsukishima the music snob, Tsukishima the mysterious know-it-all museum worker. Tsukishima whose nose he’s accidentally shoved into his pubes, hand clamped white-knuckled in his hair and unable to control the thrusting of his hips. Tsukishima who’s taking it like a  _ champ _ , holy shit. Holy  _ shit _ . 

Tobio feels his abs contract, expand, clench impossibly hard- Tsukishima’s throat is wrapped so tight and warm and slick around him, cheeks hollowed, low moans vibrating over his head, eyes fluttering half-clouded up at him, spit bubbling where his lips stretch around his shaft. Oh fuck. 

Oh fuck oh fuck oh  _ fuckfuckfuck _ \- Tobio thinks to yank his hand out of Tsukishima’s hair, fist the sheets, give him a chance to pull off as he tightens his quads and warns him, stuttered, “Coming, coming, Kei, I’m com-”

Tsukishima doesn’t pull off. Tobio feels his balls tighten, all the pressure in his body focused directly on his dick. He hovers there for a millisecond, eyes screwed shut, teetering over the edge, and then the pin drops. Comes in desperate spurts down Tsukishima’s throat, onto his tongue. 

Tobio could be fucking  _ floating _ right now. Tsukishima pulls off of his softening dick and looks Tobio directly in fogged-over eyes. Slowly runs his tongue around the corner of his mouth, licking up a drop of excess cum. Jesus fucking  _ Christ _ . Maybe Tsukishima is allowed to be better than him at something, just this once. Boneless, Tobio blinks up at Tsukishima’s shit-eating grin. Flickers his gaze down to his navy boxers, which look like they’re straining painfully. 

It’ll take him at least an hour to regain his language processing skills, so Tobio resorts to pointing at Tsukishima’s crotch and grunting.

**Author's Note:**

> please please please comment/kudo/whatever if you liked this ! !  
> talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gogurtenthusia1?s=20) if you're 18 or older


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